


Under The Influence

by sapphire_child



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Community: then_theres_us, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Love, faith - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-24
Updated: 2011-02-24
Packaged: 2019-01-27 23:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12593060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphire_child/pseuds/sapphire_child
Summary: “You don’t scare me!” she says and her voice might be small and she might tremble as she says it but she isn’t afraid. Not really. “The Doctor’d never let anything hurt me. An’ I don’t care what you say, he’s still in there and I’ll bet he’s fightin’ you with everything he’s got!”





	Under The Influence

He’s not himself, taken over by a computerised entity that is intent on ending the world. With the test bomb already detonated, it’s only a matter of time before he uses the rest of them to destroy every single living thing within a hundred galactic miles.

She is at his feet, fallen from the aftershock but adrenaline blazes through her as she looks up at her protector – now turned murderer through the influence of this evil presence. Even his eyes have turned to tar – the clear, sharp blue of them consumed by black.

“Now I am become Death,” he intones and for a moment he is terrible and old and frighteningly mad. A horrible grin stretches his mouth wide and his arms follow suit. “The Destroyer of Worlds!”

“Stop it!”

He wheels towards her high pitched rejoinder, laughs with the kind of cruelty that she despises.

“Human child! You dare presume you can stop me?” he bends down towards her and one large palm caresses her cheek with sickening affection. “You dare challenge me?”

“You don’t scare me!” she says and her voice might be small and she might tremble as she says it but she isn’t afraid. Not really. “The Doctor’d never let anything hurt me. An’ I don’t care what you say, he’s still in there and I’ll bet he’s fightin’ you with everything he’s got!”

And with all the courage of a fairy tale heroine she rises to her feet and glares him dead in his dead black eyes.

From there it’s as simple as punching him full on in the face and then destroying the computer terminal where the crazy megalomaniac computer guy stores all his backup systems. Or something.

The Doctor is a little worse for wear, to say the least, when he comes back to himself.

“You hit me!” is the first thing he says, pressing the heel of his palm into the side of his undoubtedly sore nose. It’s only then that he realises he’s still got the detonator in his hand and he blanches and drops the thing, horrified.

“Doctor...” she begins, tentatively coming back to him and he looks up at her with such anguish and loss and...

“Oh Rose,” he says and she rushes forward as he begins to crumble. He crushes her to him with a dry sob. “I couldn’t...it was too...”

“Hey, s’alright,” she soothes, gripping his leather jacket and leaning into him in an effort to hold him up. “Wasn’t you.”

“All those people...” he’s leaning so hard against her that she’s having trouble staying upright.

“It _wasn’t_ you.” She repeats firmly and wraps her arms just that little bit tighter around him. Her feet are slipping and she doesn’t even care if he collapses on top of her so long as she doesn’t have to let go of him when he’s so very much like _this_. “You were under the influence of a really scary, sort of alive...computer virus. That’s all.”

And he laughs his relief and shudders in her embrace before burying his face in her fantastic golden hair and he finally takes some of his weight back onto his own feet.

It’s easier with two sharing the load – even if it’s just for a moment.

~*~

They’ve invaded New York in the 80’s in a rush of faux fur and hair gel only to discover a boy, half dead from stab wounds lying in the gutter not twenty feet from the TARDIS.

“Help him,” Rose pleads, the bloody head already cradled in her lap.

“He’s beyond help,” the Doctor replies simply, the boy clearly in his final death throes.

“So take us back!” she demands, hands moving restlessly, trying to comfort even as she begins to cry. “Land as five minutes early! Save him!”

The Doctor merely shakes his head. “Rose...”

“Please!” she returns her focus to the man bleeding to death in her arms, helps him apply more pressure to the wounds with his blood-loss-weak-fumbling hands. “We can’t just...we can’t...”

The boy makes a last, horrible, gurgling noise before sinking bonelessly into Rose’s embrace and the Doctor waits. If love could have saved him then he would have sprung alive at her touch, that endlessly healing touch. Instead, Rose sits with him and strokes his fair hair back until it’s stained in delicate pink and red streaks.

When the Doctor finally manages to extricate her from underneath the body he leads her to the nearest subway. She walks a little ahead of him, shoulders stiff and refusing to shake with the sobs he’s sure are still gripping her insides.

When she doesn’t come out of the bathroom he follows her and there she is, shaking, her jacket and hands still bloody and the tap running, running, running...

He cleans her hands, rubs her fingers beneath the water until the blood has been washed out of every crease and crevasse. Take paper towels and wads them together with water to get the worst of it out of her coat.

“You look like you’ve been to an anti-fur protest,” he offers quietly and she responds with something frighteningly close to a laugh.

They walk back to the TARDIS hand in hand. The body is still there and she takes a moment to slip out of her coat and cover the blood from view. He is both touched and filled with sorrow as she comes to stand beside him once more and tucks herself underneath his arm.

“Save New York for another day?” he suggests gently and she nods. Sniffs once and wipes her nose on the sleeve of her skivvy. Her mascara is running and her hair has gone lank and heavy when he leans down to press an apologetic kiss against it and rock her in this half embrace until the sound of sirens come in the distance and he leads her home and lets them into the TARDIS.

~*~

They couldn’t have possibly known how it would affect them both. For once, even the Doctor can’t metabolise the herb they’ve been inhaling through ornate glass blown pipes for half the night and he’s collapsing into giggles and Rose’s lap with alarming regularity.

She’s not much better, her stomach muscles so sore that she’s clutching them, clutching him, his shirt, his hair – whatever is in range. The stuff tastes like strawberries and cinnamon and a touch of vanilla but there’s got to be something hallucinogenic in it, something addictive and strange because his shirt has never been such a bright shade of blue before has it?

“I can see _every single thread in your shirt_.” she intones darkly, leaning down to rest her head on his back. His head is on her knee and he’s giggling again and up close she really _can_ see the threads – all the little threads! There’s so much detail in his shirt, so many threads in the fabric. It’s astonishing how they all weave together, so tightly and yet she can see them all so clearly...

“Your leg is a black hole!” the Doctor cackles in response from somewhere in her lap and then lets loose something that might be laughter or possibly, him choking on a mouthful of her trousers.

So of course Rose dissolves into laughter again, even as she tries to fish him out of lap from the back of his collar. The Doctor’s arms flap about, flailing really, until she rights him and somehow their foreheads crash together.

“Owwww!” Rose squeals with laughter and puts a hand to her temple as though it might assuage the pain she can’t even feel at the front of her head. “Watch it!”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry...” the Doctor mumbles, eyes heavy for a long moment before he perks up, eyes so bright and black that Rose can’t help but laugh again.

“Your – _eyes_!” she shrieks, collapsing backwards onto the booth seat and kicking her legs in protest. “They’re blaaaaaack!”

“Whaaaaat?” the Doctor goes cross eyed, trying to see them for himself and then demands her powder compact to see. “Wanna see...I wanna see...gimme...wheresa...? Lemme see, lemme see...”

He loses it too, when he finally manages to get the compact open (and figure out how to reflect his image in it so he can actually see). “They’re black!” he squeaks. “Black! Blaaaaaaaaack...” the last is almost a low roar and Rose is soon joining in with him.

“Blaaaaaaaa-!”

“Blaaaaccckkkkkkkkkk! K. K k k k k!”

“Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaacccccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkk...”

They wake up on the jump seat, groggy and dishevelled but their honour and their memories all intact.

“Last night...” the Doctor is the first to recover his wits and to stand on both feet. “We both got rather...erm...”

“Stoned.” Rose supplies helpfully from where she’s still lolling about on the jump seat.

“Yes,” he says, briefly running a hand through the back of his hair. Rose flops onto her stomach and kicks her heels up unconcernedly. The Doctor looks sheepish. Or maybe he’s just plain embarrassed – Mr. Superior-Time-Lord-Biology and all that. “Sorry about...me.”

She merely grins and tousles his hair. The Doctor yelps in protest.

“S’alright. You’re quite cute and cuddly when you’re off your face.”

She winks at him as she jumps down from her perch and he splutters and mutters and carries on until she kisses him on the cheek and takes her leave.

Somewhat appeased, he makes a mental note about the substance and where it can be found.

Sometimes he needs a good laugh – even when he’s with Rose.

Maybe especially when he’s with Rose. 


End file.
